


Thy Strong Arms Are Around Me, Love

by prairiecrow



Series: What Are Friends For? [5]
Category: Knight Rider (1982)
Genre: A.I. to Human, Arguing, Devotion, Established Relationship, Friendship, Love/Hate, M/M, Nightmares, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-22
Updated: 2012-12-22
Packaged: 2017-11-22 00:48:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/603978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prairiecrow/pseuds/prairiecrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael discovers that Kitt is the LAST person he wants to have with him on an extended road trip. (Spoilers for "Heart, Are You Great Enough".)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thy Strong Arms Are Around Me, Love

**Author's Note:**

> A vignette set during a future chapter of "Heart, Are You Great Enough".

Miles fell effortlessly away beneath the wheels of a soulless Knight Industries Two Thousand vehicle, carrying them through the chilly late December night toward Wyoming, James Rosseau, Kitt's former body — and quite possibly their own deaths. They didn't talk about that last part of it much; they'd both faced the possibility of pain and destruction enough times in their shared career that it had become unremarkable, a part of business as usual. Michael wasn't sure if he found that fact obscurely comforting or subtly disturbing under the circumstances. 

But just as he'd predicted, Kitt did not enjoy riding in the passenger seat of a body nearly identical to the one he'd lost. He was restless, morose and downright cranky, and it was a relief for all concerned when he dozed off just before they hit the Utah border, after nearly two hours of sarcastic micro-lectures about the pointlessness of bright lights, dancing girls, drinking and gambling. Michael understood why his partner was being such a prickly asshole, really he did — Kitt was ready to jump out of his human skin with frustration and fear because he wasn't in control of the car they were riding in — but he wasn't exactly in a happy-go-lucky frame of mind himself and it was all he could manage not to get into a shouting match with the abrasive AI as they cruised down Route 15. 

So when Kitt's voice had started to get a bit draggy he'd bit his tongue and thanked God for small mercies. He'd even turned the radio, which he'd switched to a heavy metal rock station just to pay Kitt back for making his life hell, to a classical music station. And when Kitt's blond head finally sank back onto the head rest he'd silently shouted hosannahs and hallelujahs, and tried to drive the car as lightly as he possibly could: technically impossible, but maybe it really was the thought that counted. 

For about a hundred miles of empty desert Kitt was blessedly silent, and Michael broke the monotony of the landscape with periodic sidelong glances at the sharp-featured profile mostly turned toward the passenger window: yep, still drop-dead gorgeous in spite of those two hours of acidic bitching. He considered waking Kitt up long enough to advise him to drop the seat back but decided that this was one sore-pawed bear he didn't want to poke — if the sight of Las Vegas had set his partner off on a one hundred and fifteen mile tirade, heaven only knew how he'd react to a reminder of his current mortal frailty. So instead he contented himself with the thought that Kitt's flesh and blood would need a back massage when they stopped for the night, a prospect that brought a smile to his face even though part of him still wanted to dump his passenger on the side of the road: a few minutes of slow stroking and sensual moaning, some kissing, and the conflict wouldn't seem half so important to either of them. Three more hours, give or take, and they'd reach the Comfort Inn just outside of Rothham, and with a little luck Kitt would sleep through the entire trip. 

But it seemed they'd left Lady Luck back in Sin City, because at the two hour and thirty-seven minute mark Kitt began to toss his head restlessly, his eyebrows knitting together in a frown. Michael sat as still as he possibly could, but when a whimper escaped Kitt's throat he knew this wasn't just the discomfort of a human back whose owner was sleeping in the seated and upright position, and his heart sank a little — not from the prospect of Kitt reawakening, but with a deep pang of sympathy. The damned nightmares. It only made sense that they'd strike again now, given what they were heading towards. 

"Kitt?" Michael spoke quietly, sparing a quick glance from the road ahead, and when Kitt didn't respond he reached over to take his lover's left hand, entwining their fingers with gentle care. "Shhh… it's okay, baby. I'm right here. You're safe." 

"No…" A more urgent whine, low and animal, and Kitt clasped his hand like a drowning man, twitching his head around to face the car's driver. 

"Yes, you are." The highway was deserted, so he felt confident in taking his eyes from the road and turning toward Kitt more fully, lifting his hand to kiss the backs of those slender tense fingers. "Nothing's gonna hurt you — not tonight. We're both —" 

"I haven't been safe for a very long time. And neither have you." In the pallid backwash of the headlights his eyes opened and shone as they turned to Michael, their irises as clear as green glass. He'd never looked more awake in his life, or more determined, gleaming like steel. "Listen carefully: when we find him, I want you to get me close enough to use the headset — and then get the hell out of it." 

Michael scowled across at him. "I thought we got this straightened out — I'm not leaving you to face him alone." 

Kitt closed his eyes again, his forged determination visibly yielding to exhaustion. "Michael, please… if I have to die, at least let me have the comfort of knowing that you're out of danger." 

The words were, as usual, precisely chosen: Kitt had calculated the odds back in California, and in no scenario could they be remotely called 'good'. But Michael persisted: "It doesn't work that way. We're still partners. We take these risks together." 

Another green-eyed gaze, wide and yearning. "Don't make me beg." 

"You can try, but it won't help." A glance to check the road ahead — empty — before turning his attention back to the conversation. "You think I could live with myself if I turned tail and ran? That's not how you treat someone you love." 

Kitt studied him for a long moment, until at last the hint of a grudging humourless smile quirked one corner of his thin-lipped mouth. "I suppose it really is pointless to try to talk you out of this." 

"Completely pointless," Michael agreed firmly. He applied a little more pressure to the gas pedal, the vehicle beneath them surging forward with a deeper purr of tires on asphalt. "We're only about ten minutes away from the Comfort Inn. What say we call it a night, huh? You managed to grab a few of hours of sleep —" 

A grimace and a slow squirm. "Yes, and my back is protesting every second of it." 

"— but I've been driving non-stop, and let me tell you, I've never missed Auto Cruise more." 

Kitt glanced away, out at the desert scrub streaming past, with haunted eyes. "I'm sorry, Michael…" 

"Not your fault, pal." He gave Kitt's hand a little squeeze, kicking himself for having made such a thoughtless remark guaranteed to hit his best friend right in the insecurities, and when the AI looked to him again he smiled winningly. "So, a motel bed and overcooked eggs in the morning?" 

The smile widened fractionally. "Sounds good, as long as both the bed and the breakfast are shared." 

He pressed another kiss to Kitt's fingers, this one more lingering, accompanied by a smouldering glance and a wicked gleam. "I wouldn't have it any other way." 

The next twenty miles, spent holding hands in warm silence, passed much more quickly and pleasantly than the previous four hundred and sixteen. 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Thy strong arms are around me, love   
> My head is on thy breast;  
>  Low words of comfort come from thee   
> Yet my soul has no rest.   
> For I am but a startled thing   
> Nor can I ever be   
> Aught save a bird whose broken wing  
>  Must fly away from thee.   
> I cannot give to thee the love  
>  I gave so long ago,   
> The love that turned and struck me down  
>  Amid the blinding snow.   
> I can but give a failing heart  
>  And weary eyes of pain,   
> A faded mouth that cannot smile   
> And may not laugh again.   
> Yet keep thine arms around me, love,  
> Until I fall to sleep;   
> Then leave me, saying no goodbye  
>  Lest I may wake, and weep.
> 
> — Elizabeth Siddal, "Worn Out"


End file.
